


Her Worth

by TeamGwenee



Series: The Kingslayer's Captive [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Badass Brienne, Captor/Captive, Discussion of Sexual Assualt, F/M, Snarky Jaime, period appropriate sexism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-03
Packaged: 2021-03-05 04:07:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25048162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeamGwenee/pseuds/TeamGwenee
Summary: Jaime takes Brienne back to King's Landing to be ransomed. He thinks she should be of some value.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Series: The Kingslayer's Captive [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1814104
Comments: 10
Kudos: 90





	Her Worth

Ser Lambert apologised, rather than face the great Wench with steel in hand. He claimed it would not be chivalrous to fight a noble lady, and the bulk of Jaime’s army commended his decision. They had tactfully forgotten why exactly an apology was owed, in favour of supporting one of their own, rather than a enemy, and a woman at that. One who thought to bare arms and fight beside the men, with equal strength and greater skill. 

When it came to ensuring their sex had the high ground, facts were distorted or outright omitted. To have their views supported by the truth was preferable, but not necessary. Any evidence that countered their dearly held beliefs were dismissed on the grounds that to be challenging their long held convictions was a sign that the evidence itself was intensely flawed and therefore not worth taking into account. 

Take for example the way Ser Lambert turned nearly grey when Ser Jaime allowed the Wench to her feet, with the promise that he would unchain long enough to chastise the insolent knight if she deemed her apology insufficient. She was taller than him, broader than him, and she still had a smidge of Ser Lyman’s large intestines stuck to her armour from when she had slashed open his stomach with such vigour she had sent his guts flying. 

The onlookers politely noted that it had been a long day, and Ser Lambert’s ghostly pallor was to be expected, Wench or no Wench. 

Still, despite the soldiers’ near unanimous agreement that the Maid of Tarth was but an insignificant, worthless, ugly bitch, Ser Jaime saw the hostility towards the Wench ran high amongst his men. She was a challenge to their manhood, throwing down the gauntlet of their superior strength and valour. And in the face of such an opponent, Jaime could guess full well how exactly that challenge would be met.

He took the Lady Brienne to his own tent. As a clear sign that she was to be left unmolested. And he had his more trusted men, and _their_ trusted men, to keep an eye on her when left unattended. Ser Addam and Ser Lyle Crakehall, who for all his boorishness was a loyal and trusted soldier. Brienne of Tarth would be exposed to some crude humour and a great lot of vulgarity in his presence, but the only assault she would receive would be from his flying spittle. 

“I don’t need coddling,” she growled. “I have lived in the presence of men before. I fought in Renly’s army, did I not? Put me in chains and tie me to a stake like my brothers at arms.”

Jaime raised an eyebrow. “You call them brothers? I wonder if they would return the favour or call you sister. If I put you in a stockade and my men went to you for entertainment, would they break free to fight for you honour, or to participate?”

Brienne flushed, but she stood her ground. “I fought for Renly. I made that choice and I feel no shame. Put me in chains to wear proudly, instead of shaming me by treating me like a troublesome woman who doesn’t know her own mind.”

“Unfortunately, you are a woman, and that complicates matters. If it was just my foot soldiers, I can chastise them with a quick maiming or a sentence to the Wall. But you are not well liked, and some of my more valued men seem likely to give you trouble, and sadly I need their families for their gold and their armies. And yet, as leader of my troops, it is my duty to see that my men do no dishonour.”  
  


Brienne scoffed. “What do you know of duty and honour, Kingslayer?” she asked scornfully.

Ser Jaime’s face grew white and his lips grew thin. For the first time since Brienne had been thrown down at his feet, Brienne felt fearful of him. 

“Quite a lot,” Jaime said mildly. “Seeing as I have been defecating on both since I was seventeen. You will stay in my tent, my Lady, and stay under guard. It will be a shame if you die before you can bend the knee to Joffrey.”

“I will not,” Brienne hissed. “I swore myself to Renly, I named him my king, and unlike you, I value that vow.”  
  
 _‘She is so like me,’_ Jaime thought. _‘So like I was. So certain of the world and my place in it. Of vows and honour and loyalty. So ready to live by the sword and die for a word.’_ Jaime considered telling her that, and watching the horror dawn on her face.

“Unfortunately for your great dreams of dying for a puffed up, vainglorious poppinjay, it matters not if you bend the knee,” Jaime drawled. “It is your father’s word we want, and the ransom he will give us.”

He watched her face, searching for a sign of relief that she would not be called upon to honour her word and die for her oath. Instead she looked crestfallen, as she realised that her honour and her steadfastness in the end amounted to nothing.

“Oh Wench, he said, almost gently. “Have you not learnt by now that no one cares what a Maid has to say for herself. It’s what’s between her legs that the world cares about, not her ears.”

  
  
  


This was certainly true of Jaime’s men. When the Kingslayer, a man without honour took a Wench into his tent, rumours were sure to spread. Jaime knew he should care nothing. His own reputation was already beyond repair, and the warrior maid’s was little better. Jaime could only be grateful she was so sinfully ugly. If the rumour spread to King’s Landing, Cersei should know she had no cause for jealousy. If she did, ransom or no ransom, Brienne of Tarth was not likely to live to see the sun rise above the city. 

It would have been beneath Jaime to challenge these little men for their name calling. He was a Lion of Lannister, Lord Tywin’s son, and a man of the Kingsguard. He would deign to respond to trivialities like name calling.

The Wench, however, could not be denied the chance to defend herself. Especially when it was she who bore the brunt of the rumours. The Maid of Tarth, the Big Bitch, had been bestowed a new title. Kingslayer’s Whore.

For once, Jaime allowed his prisoner to be armed. And when he saw the boisterous, wet lipped scoundrel who had been the first who thought himself so witty to name her ‘Whore’ in her presence, limping from the yard with a bloodied nose, swollen eyes and broken arm, he wondered if his men would stop thinking so much on what was between the lady’s legs, and more of what she wielded in her hand.


End file.
